Sticks and Stones
by Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue
Summary: Sticks and stones  and feet belonging to arseholes  may break my bones, but - bloody hell, Malfoy! Be careful where you shove that thing!


_Title:_ Sticks and Stones

_Author:_ Neko-chan

_Fandom:_ Harry Potter

_Rating:_ high T, borderline M

_Pairing:_ Harry/Draco

_Disclaimer:_ Since you don't see me swimming about in a vault full of money ala Scrooge McDuck, I suppose that you can safely say that I'm not JKR—and, therefore, have no legal claim to the Harry Potter franchise. Pity… sadface is I. ;_;

_Summary:_ Sticks and stones (and feet belonging to arseholes) may break my bones, but—bloody hell, Malfoy! Be careful where you shove that thing!

_Author's Note:_ Aya Macchiato happened to snatch the 100th review on _Paradise Lost_, and this was the prompt that I was given for the gift one-shot: "I've been on a bit of a Harry/Draco kick lately. I was bouncing around a one-shot-ish idea in my head. Just a scene in some AU 5th or 6th year where the two have some sort of run-in when they're alone and start arguing, and just about fighting and insulting each other and the  
tension just sort of explodes and they end up snogging." Needless to say, I had _fun_ with this one. XD Anyway, I ended up turning the gift one-shot into two: this one, _Sticks and Stones_, because I wanted something humorous to write. The second one will be titled _Paphian_ and will be out soon (and will be much more serious than this one... XD;;;).

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**Sticks and Stones**

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The day that Harry Potter discovered that he was an incredibly hormonal teenage homosexual was a day that started out just like any other: he got up and stumbled his way groggily to the his dorm room's showers; just barely able to avoid colliding into Ron's naked backside, the sleep-deprived boy groped his way towards his own stall and groaned in exquisite pleasure when his fumbling fingers finally encountered the hot water's tap.

Harry luxuriated beneath the steaming water and almost fell back asleep while standing up, swaying slightly from side to side and with eyes closed as he attempted to take in the heat in such a way that a snake or lizard would—

But the snapped towel to his arse was more than enough to jolt the boy out of his hot water-induced stupor. "OI!" the sixteen year-old yelped in pain, rubbing his sore bum as he glared blearily at the dark form of his tormentor.

"Just making sure that you won't drown yourself there, Harry," came the teasing voice of Seamus Finnigan, and Harry promised himself that the Irish boy would suffer _dire consequences_: Gred and Forge had given the Potter heir their first prototypes of their joke shop's merchandise, and revenge would be had soon enough when Seamus unknowingly stuffed a Puking Pasty in his mouth at breakfast.

"Your death will be mine," Harry informed his tormentor and pointed a finger at Seamus; unfortunately for Harry, the pointed finger was a few degrees off from its intended target and the owlish way that the green-eyed boy blinked was much more endearing than threatening. It was just enough to have the Irish Gryffindor smirking in amusement, though Seamus did leave Harry to the rest of his shower in peace.

Grumbling, Harry returned to the deliciously warm water and, taking the higher route, ignored Ron's snickering from the stall next to his own. Besides: little did Ron know that his older brothers were planning more testing with their prototypes—with Ron being the unknowing guinea pig.

Thus, it was with dignity that Harry finally turned off the water to his shower and made his way back to their room so that he might get dressed and head down to breakfast with Hermione. It was just as Harry and Hermione were stepping out of the Gryffindor Common Room's hidden entranceway that both friends heard a high-pitched shriek that came from the sixth year boys' dormitory.

"That sounded like Ron!" the girl gasped worriedly, hands flying up to cover her mouth as she took a step towards the stairway that led upwards—not that she'd get very far considering the wards, but… then again, not like it was actually needed.

What seemed like seconds later, a red-faced Ron Weasley came stomping down the stairway, looking so much more like Bozo the Clown than his usual self: red button nose, purple freckles, a blue mask around his eyes that made him look more like a demented raccoon than a superhero, and hair that was colored like a multitude number of rainbows.

"_FRED! GEORGE!_" the youngest Weasley son roared as the rest of the Gryffindors gaped in shock. The twins, for their own part, bowed each other through the portrait's entrance before making a break for it and laughing their gingery heads off, Ron hot on their trail and casting the Bat-Bogey Hex all the while.

"…well, then," Hermione murmured, the only sound in the Common Room while the rest of the students continued process _what_, exactly, they had seen. However, with years to get used to the Weasley twins, it didn't take long before the first twitters began—and eventually erupted into belly-splitting laughter.

Shaking his head, Harry just offered Hermione his arm and, together, they headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Distantly, both friends could hear the last part of their trio still casting various hexes and curses at his older brothers in between begging them to undo whatever it was that they had done.

Indeed, it was just a normal start of a normal day.

Similarly, much of the day passed in the same fashion. Harry and Hermione both managed to duck in time to miss the shrapnel flying through the air from Neville's blown up table during Transfiguration. In Charms, the Puking Pasty that Seamus had eaten finally got triggered and the boy then proceeded to vomit all over his and Harry's items (luckily, they were practicing Vanishing Charms that day, so the charm was able to be applied sooner than expected and very, _very_ thoroughly). And Potions… ah, who could ever forget about Potions?

Potions passed the same that it ever did: with Snape attempting to suck the souls from the Gryffindor students in a manner akin to a giant vampire bat, all while deducting thousands of points from the House that he absolutely loathed.

And Neville, of course, melted another cauldron.

What made it more so like any other day, however, was the hissed insult that Malfoy gave to him when Hermione and Ron were both gone, Harry having stayed a bit later to ensure that Neville's melted cauldron hadn't actually damaged his own since they had both been relatively close to one another.

"Looks like that pretty profile of yours got ruined, Potter," the pointy ferret said as he leaned against the edge of a table, smirking at the other boy. "It looks like Lovegood did a horrid job—one side _definitely_ looks more misshapen than the other. But, then again, maybe your face already looked like that beforehand."

Harry scowled at that and tried his best to keep from looking up and glaring darkly at the other boy. He knew that Malfoy was up to something, was pure evil, and if he gave in to the blonde's goading… it would be that much harder to pull a James Bond on him later on.

"What? No defense, Potter? How _pathetic_. And here I thought that you lot were Gryffindor Lions, not mewling little kittens who ran away after getting their arses handed to them for the first time. Not used to being beneath someone else's foot, are we?"

Harry gritted his teeth, attempted to count to ten, and then figured screw it and finally let his mouth shoot off: "Better a foot than anything else you've been under, Malfoy," the raven-haired Gryffindor snapped back, a mean light in his eyes.

"Get bent," the Slytherin hissed as his gray eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry laughed at that, smirking as his arms crossed over his chest. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? The only thing that worries me is that I think that you'd like that a little _too_ much, ferret."

Malfoy's cheeks pinkened in his fury and—surprisingly—Harry had to think quick on his feet in order to dodge the blonde's first thrown punch. But after that… oh, after _that_, there were no holds barred: Harry did owe Malfoy back for his broken nose, after all.

The punches continued to be thrown, fists hitting solidly with flesh—each boy wanting to bruise, wanting to break the other. Harry hated the thought that Malfoy had managed to get the better of him early in the year, and the Slytherin hated the fact that the Boy Savior always, _always_ somehow managed to get the better of him. They hated each other, and they let that negative emotion drive their strikes—neither saying a word, both letting their fists speak for them as heavy panting filled the air within the classroom.

And then—

Something shifted, maybe one boy overreached his aim or the tension finally broke and pushed itself in a completely new direction, but there was a palpable shift as the mood changed—and suddenly lips were brushing, teeth biting in frustration as light clawed hungrily at dark and vice versa. There was a muted ripping sound, and Harry didn't bother to stifle his groan of "_Yes…_" as the Slytherin pressed against him and yanked his collar away from his throat: to which Malfoy promptly attacked, mouth sealing over the skin in an almost vicious manner and sucking roughly enough to bruise.

Harry moved closer then and—suddenly enough that Malfoy couldn't do anything to fight against him—and the raven-haired boy pinned the other on his back against a Potions table. The Slytherin's breath wheezed out as Harry's solid weight came crashing down, and Malfoy scowled up at the Gryffindor in irritation. "Don't look so smug, Potter," he bit out and, with a wave of his wand, slit Harry's belt and sent his trousers tumbling down to his ankles.

Pleased now, Malfoy's pale fingers curled tight around Harry's tie and dragged him back down, their mouths crashing together along the way.

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Snape paused just as he was about to enter into his—what he thought, anyway—deserted classroom. He paused, looked again to make sure that he truly did see what he thought he did, and then promptly backtracked to head towards his personal quarters and the Firewhiskey that he stashed within.

It was only until he had poured himself a very stiff drink that the Potions Master pointed his wand at his chest and promptly _Obliviated_ himself. After all: as he had been making his way back to his own rooms, Snape had decided that there were some things that he never wanted to see in his lifetime, and a Potter with his pants about his ankles snogging his prized Slytherin who happened to be pinned to one of the Potions lab's tables _coincidentally_ was lucky enough to be one of those very sights that he never, ever wanted to see again.

Merlin's beard: let it be never, _ever_ again.

**.:End:.**


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